Saturday, 25 August 2012

XVI. Wolf

I don't know why I keep putting my hand in the fire. The outcome is just so predictable.

Do I expect one who burns with destructive and defensive fires to change, to warm and not burn me.

He cannot keep his weapons stowed away. His fight impulse is just too strong, too hardened. Wicked judgmental words spew forth before I have the chance to raise my shield, run for cover.

I am wounded, bleeding. Tears come, stupid sobbing. And for who, for what. To keep the tiger at bay. He is like the turning wolf, except I have no moon to preempt his gruesome transformation. We can accustom ourselves to change when we know the signs. The tidal patterns, the seasonal progression, the rhythm of the day but sudden unexpected onslaughts will often do us in. Death in thousands comes with being unprepared.

But I can't run from this. I must take my rest, recover. Remember that ex-lovers don't become friends and I have to put my children first, always. Even if if means placing my fingers in the flames and embracing the pain. 

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